


you don't give your heart in pieces

by jennycaakes



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Post-War, Rebellion, Slavery, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennycaakes/pseuds/jennycaakes
Summary: They're losing the war. They've been losing the war for months now, and nothing's changing. Gale isn't sure how he ends up as a man on the inside.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Gadge day! Sorry I'm late to the game, but I'm always thankful for this tiny and fierce fandom. Love you all, hope you like it. The themes can be kind of heavy and dark, but it has a happy ending always. <3 
> 
> I started this fic literally years ago, but I rediscovered it when I was looking for something to do for gadge day. I've written most of it, and this I promise to actually finish, but being a real adult human makes it harder to get things done on time. So I'll post what I have for now, and swear to get to the rest.

“We’re not going to win this war.” It isn’t up for debate. Not at a time like this when all hope is frail and lost. It’s been months since the end of the Quell, months since he was given a gun and told, _finally_ , to fight. “Not unless we change up our strategy.”

The soldier looks down at his calloused hands, studying the dirt that claws under his fingernails from his earlier hunting trip. Dirt is preferred to the blood or to the gunpowder. It reminds him of the woods. It reminds him of a time when he used to sit in the grass outside the fence and breathe. The color contrasts greatly with the gray he’s adorned himself in. This is his uniform now, and it isn’t much different than his everyday clothes.  

He thinks of his braided friend, the way she stares through the glass window at the baker trying so desperately to reach him. The girl who has always, in a way, looked right through him. The girl who has a war on her shoulders when she never really wanted it. The Mockingjay.  

He lifts his eyes to the man in front of him instead of picking out the dirt from his fingernails. “You need my help,” he states, and the man nods. For some reason he always knew it would come down to him. To a choice that he made. He’s been burning inside for too long for it to not matter. “What do you need me to do?”

And this, for some reason, amuses the man across from him. He scratches at his beard and lifts his eyebrows playfully as if they hadn’t just been talking about a war. A war that they’ve been losing. He wonders if, after time, he’d become as empty and as broken as the old man across from him. They mirror each other in many ways, with their dark skin and their dark hair.

“It’s that simple? You’ll do whatever I ask?”  

The soldier nods. Or shrugs. Maybe both. It’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t quite care anymore. Not after he’s lost so much. Not after the losses continue to pile up, like a suffocating wave of coal dust that he can never escape, or the screams of the people he couldn’t save drumming in his head.  

“I want to win.” It sounds almost childish. Of course he wants to win. Everyone wants to win. The Jabberjays want to win. The Mockingjays want to win. “I don’t want anyone to die anymore.”  

The sea soaked Victor that was snatched before he saw his only son. The tiny blonde who was so obviously thrust into the action of the war on purpose. His District. _Everyone_ in his District. They’re dead. And maybe it’s not his fault, but maybe it is.

“I can’t make that promise,” the man responds. “You know that.”  

Ignoring his words the soldier frowns and repeats, “What do you need me to do?”  

New weapons? It’d be painful after what happened, after a bomb that he thought up was used on people, children, he’d never dare ruin with this war, but he could do it. Dig deep into the depths of his mind where his burning hatred for the Capitol lies. Or maybe lead a unit into a battle? Rally the people, flash a dazzling smile for the camera so the District’s will cheer?

The man shakes his head, scratching at his beard again. Thankfully the soldier has just shaved. They may be mirrors, but this small difference is enough to remind him that he’s not exactly like the decaying Victor in front of him who’s no longer suited to fight in war.

“You won’t want to do it,” he says.

“Try me.”

“No one can know,” the man continues. “Your family, your friends. No one.”  

And at last the soldier pauses. He swallows thickly and forces saliva down his throat. He blinks and rubs at his temples. He settles for a deal.  

“They’ll be safe?” The man nods. “What about me? Will I be safe?”

The man shrugs and drags his fingers through his greasy hair. “Can’t make that promise either.” The older one drums his fingers across the table in front of them. “It’ll be risky.”

After a bit of inner deliberation the soldier nods. “I’ll do it. I just want this over with.”  


	2. An Attendant

The sound of laughter carries far from down the hall, followed by a clinking of chains tapping against one another. A new shipment must’ve arrived. It’s the only reason that could explain why the Jabberjay soldiers are so happy, considering the way their losses have been piling up lately.  

“Hawthorne,” one of their voices beckons for him. “Get down here.”  

Gale Hawthorne straightens his posture and puts on his mask of indifference before marching down the hall to join his team. Yes, it’s a new shipment, filled with girls from all Districts imaginable. Head chief Duquesne leads the women into their showcase room. He’ll tie up their arms to bars and make them look as pretty as they can at a time like this.  

Gale slows his pace so he doesn’t have to watch again.  

The men, his team, wait out in the hall while Duquesne gets everything ready. They’re all bouncing on their toes with excitement, eager to unwrap their new presents and make them their slaves.

They won’t use that word. _Slave_. But that’s they are.

One of them elbows Gale when he finally arrives. “They say it’s a special batch,” Strummer says.

“They always say that,” Gale responds as playfully as he can. The girls always look the same to him. Broken, scared, weak. They all have that same look in their eyes, the look of desperation. It’s why he doesn’t make eye contact with them, because maybe then they’ll see it in him too.  

Strummer smirks, trying to peer through the crack in the door to get a glance at the women. “Maybe you’ll like one this time. We all know you have such high expectations.”  

The other men around them snicker, knowing Gale probably will decline this offer again too. He blames it on tradition, how he didn’t grow up in this lifestyle and he’s still getting used to it. As long as they believe him it works, but the truth is that Gale can’t stomach it.

Making a woman his property. To do whatever he pleases with her.

He has workers--attendants, that have been assigned to him since the switch. Since the beginning. Since he held up his hands and marched into the center of a battle and said the words he’d rehearsed over and over again.

_You’re right. We can’t go on like this._

But attendants, they’re not like this. They’re not playthings. They’ll clean up for him when he stumbles in drunk and is too out of it to fix his mess. They’ll bring him food when he spends hours staring at the tablet that outlines another attack on the Mockingjay Army. They even smile sometimes, when he shoos them away and tells them not to mention it to anyone else.

Gale’s attendants have it lucky compared to the rest.

The other men in his team go through women like it’s their job. They work them to the bone, break them in ways no one should ever be broken. Rub them the wrong way. New shipments every few week, they can get rid of the old and replace them with the new.

Gale was given girls too, once the Capitol trusted him enough, but his girls and his attendants are one in the same now. There are only two of them. After repeated tests, after brutal grilling, after torture to see where he really stood and who he really supported him, the Jabberjay Army welcomed him with open arms.

“Showing the districts we have an ex-Mockingjay on our side? Gale fucking Hawthorne?” Duquesne had laughed. “I want him on my unit.”

The gifts had been abundant. The parties, the luxuries, nothing like life in District 13 had been. It didn’t make sense for him to be networking in the middle of a war. But it didn’t last. Just a month or so. Then he was fighting again, fighting _against_ the people he wanted to win.

Gale’s tried to keep his first set. He calls it sentimental. He can’t bring himself to hurt them unless he must. They know this. They’re grateful. It’s a risk, Gale knows it’s a risk, but it’s one of the few that he has to take. If he loses himself to small pieces of this side, if he gives in to the anger that’s bubbling just below the surface of his skin _even once_ , the Jabberjays win another victory and Gale refuses this by all means.

He’ll wear their uniform. He’ll do their dirty work. But he’ll never be a Jabberjay at heart.

“Come on,” another one of the men says. “You had to get rid of that one last week for trying to kill you in your sleep.” Gale swallows back the memory of his swollen knuckles and her broken teeth. Sometimes when he swallows he can still feel the noose around his neck. “You deserve a new one. You’ve got plenty of pay.”

“Yeah,” Strummer nods. “Just take a look. Like I said, it’s a special batch.”  

Gale shrugs, the mask of indifference is the only one he’ll wear. He won’t seem eager or pleased, but at the same time he won’t be concerned. It’s how he manages. This is how he manages.

Eventually Duquesne opens the door and the men rush in to get their first glances. Gale can detect Strummer’s high laugh over the rest of everyone else’s. Apparently he found a match.

“Bout time you brought me a man,” Strummer says to Duquesne. Gale searches for the one he’s talking about, the scrawny brunette with a burning hatred in his eyes. “I’ll take him.” He’s the only man in the room. Must’ve been found in a District trying to rebel and was easily taken prisoner. Gale doesn’t know his story. Doesn’t want to.  

Gale doesn’t see what’s so special about this group of refugees compared to the last. They all look the same. Dirty and tired and scared. But then he sees her.  

And she doesn’t look tired and scared. Dirty, albeit. She can’t help that. That’s how rebels are living these days. But the look in her eyes is bright. Anger. Terror masked with a hatred so strong it makes him step backwards.  

The shackles around her wrist are matted with blood, a clear sign that she struggled against her captors. And she has this scar down her chin, something he never remembered her having before.  

She’s pale. Maybe too pale. Like she’s seen a ghost, though Gale’s fairly sure he’s the one who should be white.  

Madge Undersee made it out of District 12. Just not to safety.  

When her eyes find his it’s as if all energy saps from her. Like she’s a balloon that had just needed a reason to pop and he was it. Gale wants to explain what’s happened. What’s truly going on. But he know he can’t. Not here. Not like this. So instead he points to Madge and says, “I want her.”

Duquesne smirks, his sharp teeth cutting his bottom lip as though they’re fangs.

“Thought you’d like this batch.” His voice is seething in sarcasm, resentment. Duquesne has never been fond of Gale. He must know the truth about the blonde before him. How they’re from the same District. He can’t know the inbetween. He can’t know about strawberries on porches and piano tinkering through the window. He can’t know about the walks home from the Victor’s Village or the late nights in the meadows. Still, Duquesne carries on as he goes to unchain her from the wall. “You see here, boys, this is Margaret Undersee. Can anyone tell me where you’ve heard that name?”

Gale stands back and watches his superior, refusing to continue studying the face of the girl he fiddles with. She must be 20 now. Maybe 21. Gale can’t remember if Katniss said she was older or younger than her by a few months. Besides a few scrapes and burns that go with the discomfort of war she looks pretty in shape. He wonders where she’s been, how she’s managed.  

“No?” Duquesne turns back to his men. “She was the daughter of the mayor in Hawthorne’s very own District.”

Strummer snorts. “I thought they went up in flames.”

“Evidently one little rebel got away,” Duquesne continues. His hand reaches up and pinches Madge’s cheek, shaking her face back and forth forcefully. “And now, here she is, gliding into the hands of someone from her very own District. A superior while she’s just a lowlife brat. Oh, how the times have changed.”  

Madge yanks her face from his grip and drops her eyes to the floor. Will she even let Gale explain? Will he ever get the chance? Gale knows that he’s been monitored ever since he switched over to the Jabberjay’s side though security over him his slackened immensely since then. He’s proved his worth. Killed his own people to prove a point.  

Duquesne yanks the chain from the wall and tosses it to Gale like it’s a makeshift leash. “There you are, _Captain._ ”  

Gale lifts his eyebrows noncommittally as he pulls her from the room. Though she struggles at first his pull on her is much stronger than the amount of energy she has left in her. Madge must be more tired than he thought. And from up close he can see the way her face sinks in. How her bones stick out. He wonders when the last time she had a proper meal was.   

“Why does he always get the pretty ones?” someone remarks as they start down the hallway.  

* * *

The walk to his quarters is quiet, nothing but the clanging of chains as she follows behind him. Gale doesn’t dare turn around. Doesn’t even bother trying to talk to her. Madge had always been stubborn in District 12. A bit of attitude under her normally serene demeanor. There’s no doubt in his mind that she’s still like that.  

He scans his retina above the door handle and it beeps, registering that he’s home. The door swings open and Gale drags Madge in before backtracking to close her in. He locks the door.

When he passes her he catches the look on her face. Wide eyes. Her mouth is open just a bit as she glances around.  

Gale supposes that he should feel proud to call this place his home, but he’s not. If circumstances were different, sure. But they’re not. If he was still wearing a Mockingjay uniform he’d be _lucky_ to call this his home. But he’s _not_. He’s a Jabberjay and everything he owns is property of the Capitol.

It’s a large room, bigger than his entire house back in District 12. Right in the center against the back wall is his bed, kept neat and tidy by his other attendants. _Servants_. A better word than slave. The fact that Undersee is one of them now almost makes him cringe. Besides the bed is a few couches and chair near a large television. There’s a giant glass window that looks out across the Capitol. A hallway that leads off to a bathroom.

“Bring me a key,” Gale calls out to one of the women who waits with her head down. Freya. One of the first servants he got. She’s quiet, nearly speechless with him, but they have conversations through their eyes. She must understand. They’ve never spoken of it, but she _must_. “And a wristband.”

The girl nods her head once in understanding and disappears down one of the back hallways. He watches her go with an ache in his stomach. One day he’ll set her free. He’ll set all of them free and make sure no one ever hurts them again.

She returns a moment later, her eyes not even bothering to look up and meet his. She lets her curly brown hair slip from behind her ears and dangle in front of her face, trying to hide herself off. Gale takes the things from her hands gently and then she resumes her spot by the wall where she had been when they first entered.  

Gale turns back to Madge who’s been watching the interaction carefully. When his eyes find hers she steps back and bumps into a wall. He reaches for her wrist to unlock the cuffs and she flinches, flinging herself backwards and away from him. Her arms snap up and she attempts to claw him. A method that should scare him but no longer seems like much. Gale grabs her wrist and slams it over her head against the wall.  

“Don’t fight me,” he mutters.  

“Traitor,” she spits out. “You filthy traitor!” Gale grabs her chin much like Duquesne had grabbed her cheek back in the viewing room and pulls her to face him.  

“Watch your tongue,” he growls. The word _traitor_ makes him angry. “And _behave_.” He throws her face from his grasp and she lets out a shaky breath. He had planned to be gentle with her. Careful. Kind. Gale was going to show her that she has no reason to be afraid, that he’ll keep her safe, but he doubts she’ll even listen. Gale grabs her wrist again and brings it down to in front of him, studying the bruises and red blotches that circle her skin. “The fuck did you do?” he asks, but it’s more to himself. As expected, he gets no answer. “I’m gonna unlock you. Don’t even try to run. We clear?”  

“I bet you love this,” she hisses while he turns the key in the lock. “You always _did_ hate me back in 12. This is probably just some sort of sick revenge. Fulfilling some sort of gruesome _fantas—”_

Gale cuts her off, “What’d I tell you about watching your tongue?”  

She snaps her lips shut as he reaches for her wrist again, gently wrapping his fingers around her pale skin to show her that he really doesn’t _mean_ to be so cruel. She still flinches at his touch. He takes the wristband from his other hand and cuffs it around her delicately, dropping Madge’s hand once he’s done the process.  

Her eyes lock on the silver cuff that’s now locked around her. “What’s that?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Gale mutters. “Behave and you’ll never have to find out.” He glances over his shoulder and finds Freya watching, only to drop her eyes once she sees him look at her. “Freya, take her and clean her up. Make her presentable.” Freya, never being one for words, nods, and crosses the room to them. “Go with her,” he tells Madge sternly. The only response he gets is a hardened gaze. “Don’t let me find out you were difficult.”  

He hears Madge swallow and she changes her gaze to the brunette that walks toward them. As Freya reaches them she looks up to Gale. “Would you like me to send Yvette with a drink, sir?”

“Make it strong.” Freya nods and grabs Madge’s arm, tugging her away from the soldier in front of them. As they go toward the back rooms that they reside in, Gale inwardly groans. “Make sure she gets something to eat.”

“Yes, sir,” Freya nods again.


	3. Her Attempt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends - suicide trigger warning in this chapter! be safe always.

Gale lies awake that night.

 _You’ll know when it’s time to come back_ , Haymitch had said. _I’ll send you a message_.

_What’ll it say?_

_I can’t tell you. You’ll just know._

Is this it? Madge Undersee? Could she be the message that Haymitch said that he’d send? He hasn’t spoken to the man in years, now. Maybe Haymitch forgot about him. Maybe Haymitch lost faith in him. Maybe Haymitch was convinced, like Gale’s own mother and his siblings, like Katniss, that his beliefs had really shifted. He plays the part well, he knows he does. There’s no other way unless he wants to die.

But he still believes in the cause. He still believes in Katniss.

“Sir?” Gale sits up, blinking, finding Freya standing steps away from his bed. “Did I wake you?”

“Is it her?” Gale asks, already swinging his feet over the edge of his bed. Freya nods and steps out of the way as Gale hurries past her. He hears crying, but it sounds like Yvette. He hates going into the back rooms. He wants them to have their own space, their own privacy. “Where?” he nearly demands.

Penny points and Gale hurries into the bathroom. The shower’s running. The water’s red. Madge is in her new clothes, her Capitol uniform, and there are long gashes in her arms from her wrist up her forearm.

“Should we call--”

“No,” Gale snaps. “Get the kit.” Yvette and Freya scatter to get the supplies and Gale turns off the water before crouching down to her side. “You’re not fucking dying like this,” he growls. Her skin is flushed but she’s still breathing. She’s still breathing. “Fuck, Undersee, I fucking hate you. _Freya!_ ”

Freya returns with the kit and Gale gets to work. Both fortunately and unfortunately, this is not the first time Gale has had to patch up an attendant. He works quickly and with steady hands. Years of setting snares has given him precision. But the way the red of her blood contrasts with the white of the tiles, it makes him tick.

Soon he’s finished, and she’s still breathing but she’s lost a lot of blood. Yvette stands, tears in her eyes, with a concoction that’ll boost Madge’s return to the world of the living.

Her lips are moving and Gale can barely make out the weakest breath. “ _Yes_.”

Gale brushes her wet hair back from her face and sighs, looking up at the two other girls with a sad expression on his face. “No one knows,” he says. They both nod.

Madge Undersee may not be his answer, but when he can finally burn the Capitol to the ground he’s going to take her with him whether she wants it or not.

* * *

A day later she’s on her feet.

“You should’ve let me die,” she bites the second she sees Gale in the morning. It’s not the best way to start the day. “This place’ll kill me anyway.”

Gale elects not to respond.

* * *

He spends most of his time in meetings.

Gale isn’t sure if someone realized his aim was getting shoddy (purposefully, purposefully) or what, but they noticed his strategizing was better for them all. He’s had to manage his few share of wins for the Jabberjays, but Gale’s always been good at selling things that _sound_ like they could win while actually being terrible moves.

Their latest assault is on District 4. The ocean makes things difficult, but Gale’s been weighing pros and cons for weeks now and has figured out his own plan.

When he returns back to his quarters that night, Yvette has another drink waiting. She’s good at that, always having something for him to drink. Madge is nowhere in sight. He raises his eyes in a silent question.

“She’s with Freya,” Yvette explains. Gale nods. That’s good. Freya might be able to convince Madge that not everything here is shit, not yet. “She’s very angry,” Yvette says.

“I know.”

He knocks back most of his drink before Yvette shifts awkward. Her hair is short and cropped, dark. She cut it off after another soldier, one of Gale’s men, twisted his fingers through it and tugged her toward him. It was Gale’s idea.

“Why are you lingering?” Gale asks.

Yvette’s eyes are on the floor. “She talks too much,” she says.

“Yvette.”

“They might make her an Avox,” she says.

Gale motions for another drink. “It’s best we not let that happen.”

* * *

If Gale could make it so Madge was scarcely around, he would. But he’s short staffed, due to his desire to not take in attendants, and unfortunately he needs her. Freya is good at training her, which means Gale doesn’t have to, but whenever Madge is in the room he can see the anger in her eyes.

It isn’t until something shifts, a few weeks after Madge arrives, does the fire dim just a bit. Yvette has always been softer, more emotional. She was close to the last girl that Gale had, the girl who snapped, the girl who climbed on him in the middle of the night and tried to take his life.

Losing her was hard. For all of them.

Gale wakes up to the sound of crying, Yvette again, followed by the soft sounds of Freya trying to keep her quiet. “C’mon, Yve, just breathe.” Gale lets out a short breath before pushing himself from bed and hurrying to the back room. He knocks on the doorframe, though he knows he doesn’t have to, before walking in.

Madge is sitting on the edge of her bed, her eyes sharp, and Freya is wrapped around Yvette in a strange side-hug.

Gale clears his throat. “Yvette. With me.” There’s hesitation, but finally she stands. He looks at Freya, at Madge, before he nods. “Get some sleep.”

“Where are you taking her?” Madge asks.

Gale’s hand finds the small of Yvette’s back as he guides her from the room. “We’ll be back.”

“Hawthorne,” Madge growls.

He wheels around to face her. “Get some sleep,” he nearly snaps. “Mind your own fucking business, Undersee. It’ll save your life.”

She looks thrown at his sharpness and turns to Freya, who keeps her eyes on the ground. Gale leads Yvette out of the back room, out of his quarters, and takes he straight to the roof.

It’s probably not allowed, but it’s also not specifically prohibited, and Gale’s been around long enough to know how to mind the cameras. There’s a quiet, foolish part of himself that hopes he’s not even being watched anymore, but even after years of this war he knows there must be eyes somewhere.

They stand by the edge, looking out into the Capitol. Gale hates it here. The mountains aren’t the same. There are shouts of joy and cheer from down below, a party, probably. Yvette stands close to him, crying.

“If I hear anything about Ophelia,” he says, “then I’ll let you know.”

She rests her forehead against his side. “You’re too good to us, sir.”

“Gale,” he reminds her gently. Up here, he’s Gale.

“Gale,” she hiccups out. “I know that you’re a g-good man.” He brushes back her hair. “Despite it all, I know.”

“Shh.” Yvette struggles to breathe, and Gale just stands beside her, as tall and steady as he can. “I had a sister once,” he tells her.

Gale speaks of Posy long into the night, long after Yvette stops crying and the shouts from down below have died out. She’s older now, nine years old. Nearly ten. He wonders if she hates him. He wonders if she thinks of him.

He remembers her like this: a small child, who loved the color pink and preferred Rory over the rest of them. A little girl who would stand on her tiptoes to try and be taller. His sister, innocent and soft despite the war, despite the bombs, despite the anger.

Gale fears this is not his sister anymore. Gale fears his name gives her nightmares.

Finally, he leads Yvette back downstairs. Freya and Madge are waiting upon his return, and they usher her back into their quarters while Gale walks straight for his bed, ignoring the soft look that Madge gives him. He has an early morning as it is.


	4. A Run-In

When Duquesne asks about his newest addition, Gale knows that he must start bringing Madge around so people don’t get suspicious. She bares her teeth at him when he goes to retrieve her, but a cautious look from Freya has her standing to attention.

“Two steps behind me,” Gale tells her, straightening the cuffs on one of her wrists. “Never speak. Never.” There’s suspicion in her eyes. He grabs her chin. “What do you call me if you do?” he asks.

Madge swallows. “Sir,” she grits out.

Gale smirks.

He releases his hold on her chin and out into the world they go. It’s always difficult, the first walk around. “Stop ogling,” he has to mutter. “Keep up.” But Madge is a quick learner, and despite her blood in the shower a few weeks ago he strongly believes that she wants to live.

They pass another soldier kick his attendant to the ground. Another force his against a wall. Another with his hands on her ass. Gale keeps his hands folded behind his back and he walks on, needing Madge to see these things, needing Madge to know that she won’t be treated like them, needing Madge to understand that one day Gale will rip this place apart brick by brick to free these people.

“Good to see you finally out of your dungeon,” Gale hears, and forces himself to stop. He manages a smile. Madge nearly bumps into him as she’s not paying attention. It’s Strummer again, his smile all sharp teeth. “Hawthorne,” he greets.

“Strummer.”

He peers over Gale’s shoulder to look at Madge, and something in his stomach burns. “There she is,” Strummer says. Gale doesn’t step aside, doesn’t give this man more of an opportunity to leer, but Strummer shifts so he has a better angle anyway. Soon the three of them are standing in a triangle, Strummer moving closer and closer toward Madge. “Aren’t you lucky, Hawthorne,” Strummer murmurs as he traces Madge with his eyes. Gale can tell that she tries to repress a shudder but it happens anyway. “Ain’t she pretty. Maybe you could let me have her for a night.”

Madge’s eyes widen and she glances in Gale’s direction, nearly pleading with her expression. He did say not to talk, after all.

“She’s mine,” Gale counters smoothly, dropping Madge’s gaze. He shifts a step closer. “You know I don’t like sharing.”  

“A shame, really.” Strummer takes a strand of her hair between his fingers and smiles darkly. Madge tries to step away from him but Strummer grabs her wrist. “Mayor’s daughter, already knows the rules. Doesn’t speak out of turn, always holds her tongue.” Again she tries to pull away but he only brings her closer. “How’s your old man anyway, sweetheart? Probably worried sick over his little girl.”  

Madge’s eyes snap up to his and even from where Gale’s standing she can see the pure hatred reflected in them. All terror is gone, but at the mention of her family she’s livid.  

“Oh wait,” Strummer continues, “he’s dead. So is your Mommy. Buried under ash and wood for _years_ now. I wonder if it hurt when your house collapsed on them. Wonder if they cried out for your help—” Strummer stops speaking the moment Madge spits in his face. He drops her wrist and pushes her backwards, allowing her to collide with the floor at an award angle. “You _bitch_ ,” he hisses, pressing a button on his watch after wiping his face with his sleeve.  

She’s on the floor at once, a scream in her throat so loud and piercing and terrible that Gale reacts on instinct and swings, his fist to Strummer’s face in an instant. He makes his attendants wear their bracelets because it would be suspicious if he didn’t, but Gale’s never used the shock on them.

People around them pause.

Madge is still on the floor twitching, her entire body seizing up and shaking, but at least she’s not screaming anymore.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Strummer snaps, wiping blood from his nose.

“I told you that she was mine,” Gale enunciates. “You have no right.”

“She spat on me and you did nothing,” he growls back.

Gale swallows his anger once, twice. His voice is even when he says, “I’ve always liked them feisty.” He bends down then, scooping Madge into his arms as she spasms, and walks toward his place without another comment.

* * *

Back in his own quarters, Gale sets Madge down gently in his bed. She’s still tremoring, the first shock is always the worst, and he sighs.

“Can you hear me?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” she gasps.

He reaches forward, brushing her hair from her face. “Let. Them. Talk,” he whispers, but it sounds like more of a growl. She needs to understand this. _She needs to understand this._  “They’re going to say shit. It’s what they do. But they won’t hurt you unless you react, and that’s what they want.”

Madge looks at him, her eyes blue and clear and sad. “And you?” she manages.

“I won’t hurt you regardless,” he promises.

Her eyes fill with tears and her eyebrows furrow and Gale knows that she’s confused. She must be. After years of propaganda showing the world that Gale’s switched sides, he should be different. He should be ruthless and cold and angry.

“Why are you _here_?” she rasps. “Why did you switch sides?”

He doesn’t answer, but the look on her face makes him hopeful that she understands.


	5. Another Battle

He’s called out to a battle three days later and can take one attendant with him. Normally he opts out. Uses the excuse of work, of _war_ as a reason to not bring one of the girls with him. Instead it gives them time off to clean the unit, to relax in their quarters, to not worry about impressing anyone or doing everything right.

Only this time, he brings Madge. He needs her to understand.

On the hovercraft, the attendants sit in a different unit in the back. “Really feeling the stress these days,” another soldier asks, “aren’t you, Hawthorne?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’ve brought someone to fuck,” another points out. “For once.”

Because that’s all attendants are to them, girls to fuck. Gale swallows. Manages a smile. Someone laughs, and the subject is passed over with ease.

Soon enough they land, and they’re escorted to where they’ll be staying. Everyone has their own rooms. With the Mockingjays, it was always in tents or on the ground under the stars. They’re still living luxuriously, even in the midst of war. This will bring their downfall, Gale thinks, whenever it happens.

 _Soon_ , he prays.

He finds Madge and leads them to where they’ll be staying. She looks angry and small and confused. When they arrive, Gale gestures to the bed.

“You take it,” he says. “I can sleep on the cot.”

She frowns. “Excuse me?”

“The one that’s normally reserved for you,” Gale elaborates. “I’m used to the floors, you deserve a nice few nights of sleep.”

Madge is still frowning at him. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why am I here?” she asks. Gale turns to face her head on. “Why did you bring me here?” She steps toward him slowly. “And why are _you_ here?” she asks, voice dropping. “I have--Gale, I have thoughts, but--”

“Do you want the bed or not?” he asks.

Madge’s frown deepens. “I’m not going to say _no_ to the bed.” He lowers himself on the edge of the mattress, and Madge does the same. “You have to fight?” she asks.

“Yes.”

Madge ducks her head. “You’re not like I remember,” she says. He tips his head to the side, waiting for her to elaborate. “Softer, somehow.”

Gale scoffs, and a smile--oh wow, a _smile_ \--graces her face.

“Tell me about what happened to you,” he requests. “After the bombing.” She looks around the room as though wondering if there are microphones, but Gale shakes his head. Not here. Not worth it.

So she talks. She tells him of a second wave of survivors from District 12, a second group that made it out. Smaller, weaker. District 13 never came for them and they thought that they would die. Starving and broken and sick.

Riders from District 6 arrived. Not a lot of food, but a lot of medicine. Madge still has scars from the burns, but the scars are nothing. She shows him some on her back, he reaches out and brushes his thumb over her chin.

“This one?” he asks.

“A knife,” she answers, leaning into his grip. “Over a loaf of bread.”

Gale thinks on this. “Did you win?”

Madge laughs, and the sound of it takes years of weight off of his shoulders. “I don’t even remember,” she admits. Gale lowers his hand, and again they’re quiet. They hold one another’s gaze for a long time before Madge says, “What are you thinking about?”

“Just that you’re not like I remember, either.”

“War does that to people,” Madge tells him.

Gale nods. “It does.” He shakes his head a little bit, looking out across their small quarters. “I always knew you had it in you,” he admits. “Others might not’ve, but I knew.”

“Did you?”

“Mm.” He nods. “It was there. Quiet, but there.”

Madge is smiling again, something softer, something gentle. “Tell me why you’re here,” she says another time.

He tells her the truth. “I was tired of losing.”

* * *

Madge can’t be in the strategy meetings, but she’s there at the end of the day. Gale tells her what their moves are, tells her his own choices in this battle, and tries not to smile at the way her face lights up.

She understands.

“There have to be some other options,” she says after Gale outlines an attack that surely will not work.

“I’m sure there are,” he agrees.

* * *

When they finally reach the battlefield, Gale’s gone for nearly a week. He returns tired, injured, but happy. Another battle lost for the Jabberjays means another win for the Mockingjay, and a win it was. Close enough to feel like they were nearly there, but clear enough that Gale’s men lost.

Madge is waiting for him upon his arrival.

She has a medical kit and, despite the fact that he’s been patched up by battlefield medics previously, ends up sitting on the edge of the mattress so she can redress his wounds for him.

“We lost,” Madge says as she finishes off a bandage on his shoulder.

“No,” Gale tells her. “I lost. You won.”

Her eyes meet his for a moment and a smile finds her face. “I remember when I used to sneak around the mayor’s house,” she says before focusing back on his wounds. “Stealing newspapers for Katniss. Sitting with my ear pressed to the crack of a door to try and hear in on whatever my father was talking about.”

“Mm. Your point?”

“Just reminiscing,” she hums. Gale fights off his smile as best he can. When she finishes her work, she steps back. The air between them is filled with silence. It looks as though she wants to say something. Finally, she straightens her spine and takes a deep breath. “I missed you,” Madge says.

“Missed me?” Gale echoes.

“This week.” Madge wraps her arms around herself as though she’s giving herself a hug. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone from 12,” she tells him. “I got used to your ugly face.”

Gale laughs, surprised at the sound of it. “Never thought I’d hear that, Undersee.”

“What, someone call you ugly?”

He reaches out, grabbing her elbow, and tugs her into his arms. Madge startles but soon wraps herself around him too. She buries her face into his neck and exhales, her warm breath wrapping around him like a shield. It’s the safest he’s felt in years. The most comfortable.

They stay like that for a long time.


	6. Not Again

“We want you back in weapon manufacturing.”

It’s those words that leave Gale a shell of a human for the rest of the day. At the time he had smiled, he had nodded his head, had told them _of course, whatever you need_.

Back in his own quarters, Gale sits in the dark. Yvette brought him a drink. Freya stands nearby waiting for an order. Gale can’t move. He can’t think. He can’t figure out what it is to tell the girls as to why he’s like this.

When Yvette pours him his fourth drink of the night, Gale startles at Madge’s sharp voice. “That’s enough,” she snaps. Gale turns, looking toward the shadows where they’re hidden. “He doesn’t need anymore.”

“Whatever he wants, he--”

“ _No_.” There’s a sound of a scuffle, then the sound of broken glass. Gale’s about to push himself to his feet when he hears Madge says, “Clean it up.” She emerges from the darkness with a look of concern on her face, but anger in her eyes. She strides toward him with purpose in every step. “What did they do?” she asks.

“Not here,” he answers. He looks past her. “Yvette--”

“She’ll be fine.”

Gale’s on his feet after that, the alcohol having gone straight to his head, and they slowly make their way to the roof. The air is colder up there, and Gale wonders if Madge needs a jacket. She doesn’t push for an answer from him, she doesn’t demand a story. She just waits. She stares out across the Capitol and looks up at the stars and she waits.

“They’re nothing like the ones in the meadow,” she finally says.

“It’s too bright here,” Gale tells her.

“Do you miss it?”

“Every goddamn day.” Madge grips the railing a bit tighter. “They want me building weapons again,” he tells her.

Her eyebrows furrow. “Again?”

“Bombs,” Gale elaborates. “Like the ones dropped on the kids.”

It was a story that reached every edge of Panem, a story that made Gale’s entire body ache as though he’d been beaten down into the ground. Madge nods, indicating she remembers, and Gale shakes his head. He can’t do it. He could fake a smile but fuck-- _fuck_ , this is it. This is the line.

He thinks of Katniss, of Prim, of all of those small kids who had no right being targeted like that. He thinks of his hand behind it, how he’d planned the tactic. Never in a million years did he want it used on children. On medics. Peacekeepers, maybe. But kids? No, no, no.

For the first time in a very long time, Gale feels something inside of him shift. It’s like a crack in a dam and buckets of blue flood every inch of him. He lets out a sharp breath and turns away from Madge, fighting off the tears that threaten his eyes as best he can. He wants out. God, he’s so fucking _sick_ of this. He misses his mom, his siblings. He misses feeling like he was making a difference. He misses his people, his fight.

Madge steps toward him slowly, hesitantly, and rests her hand against his back. He sucks in a deep, watery breath, and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I need this to be over,” Gale rasps.

Madge slides her hands around his hips and rests her forehead against his side. “Soon,” she tells him.

He wants so badly to believe her.

* * *

Training keeps him in shape.

When he was first allowed to fight, with District 13, Gale was so _angry_. It had burned up and exploded out of him. When Finnick died, then when Prim died, he felt it leaking out of him. In many ways, he’s deflated over the years. He’s just so _tired_.

But being tired doesn’t mean he’s not angry. It’s still there, simmering. It burns hotter every day. The only thing that keeps him sane is training, the repetition of loading and unloading guns, the ache in his muscles after an unending workout. It keeps him grounded. It lets out his frustration so he keeps himself in check.

Today, he snaps.

Another soldier is there pushing his buttons. It’s something stupid. A comment about Madge. It has him angrier than it should and Gale lashes out.

His thoughts go dark and the next thing he knows, someone’s pulling him off of the man who made the comment. Gale’s knuckles are a bloody mess and the other soldier is unconcious. He gets sent to his quarters without comment, just a look from Duquesne that Gale thinks he’s earned.

Madge is the first one to exit the back room and he growls. “No,” he orders. She pauses at the sound of his voice. “Send Freya.” Madge hesitates and Gale balls his hands into fists, welcoming the burn. “ _Freya_!” he shouts.

Moments later the other girl emerges, a curious look on her face while Madge steps backwards. “Sir?”

“The kit.”

Freya nods before guiding Madge back into their space. Soon, Freya returns with the supplies they need. Madge is gone. “You should go to a real doctor,” Freya comments as she works.

“No.”

Freya sighs. “Would you like to tell me what happened?” she asks. Gale’s eyes dart to the doorway of their rooms without meaning to. “Is it her?” Freya asks.

Gale can’t put it into words, not for this attendant, not for this girl who doesn’t understand. But Madge being here, reminding Gale of who he used to be, reminding Gale how desperately he wants to return home… it makes him dangerous.

* * *

Three days later, Gale’s rifling through his bag looking for his notebook when a small memory device catches his eye. It’s not his, and there’s something about the golden color that makes him think of Katniss.

He grabs his tablet and inserts the device, finding it empty other than one file.

It’s blueprints for a bomb.


	7. Rooftop View

With a few tweaks to the blueprints that were given to him, Gale has a passable weapon to show to his superiors. They can’t know where the design came from. They can’t know it’s real purpose.

But one look over has them clapping Gale on the back. “You genius,” they cheer, smiles on their face as they celebrate something that should not be celebrated. “We knew you still had it in you.”

(Gale is more than relieved that this weapon is not of his mind.)

It gets approved within the week, and then Gale is down to the drawing room to make sure everything is up to code the way he wants it. It’s difficult work, seeing as Gale wants little to do with weaponry in the first place and the fact that he’s not a technical person, but he does what he can.

At night he comes home with his hands smelling like gunpowder, with his fingers sore from working with wires.

Ever since Gale’s fight the other week, Madge has been keeping her distance. This is good. Her presence, while comforting most of the time, often reminds him of that anger that he’s worked so hard to keep trapped away. He can feel it pushing at him now as she lingers by the walls, trying to keep herself tucked from view.

He nods when they make eye contact, and she moves forward with a rag to clean his hands. No words are exchanged.

She takes his hands into her own and works the towel over each finger, cleansing it of work Gale wants to be rid of. He watches her carefully as she does this. Madge is focused. Her eyes are sharp, her movement intentional, but something catches his eye.

There’s a small scar by her collarbone that he hadn’t noticed before. It’s still dark red, angry.

“Did you get that here?” Gale asks.

Madge startles at his voice. “What?”

“That scar,” he says, pointing with his free hand. He doesn’t remember it from before. “What happened?”

Madge stops her work to look where he’s pointing before she shakes her head. “No, I’ve had that.” She goes back to cleaning his hands. “From the rubble. In 12.”

Gale’s eyes shoot a different direction. He doesn’t want to think about that night. There was too much screaming, too much fire, too much death, too much too much too much. Even all these years later he carries it inside of him and it aches.

Instead he says, “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

She looks up, and again their eyes meet. “You remind me of home,” Gale settles with. “That makes it hard.” Madge nods, dropping her gaze, but Gale reaches down to cup her cheek and tugs her up to look at him again. “Roof tonight?” he asks.

Madge swallows. “You’re in charge.” He squints his eyes at her and the smile she gives in him in response is worth it. “That sounds nice,” she finally tells him.

* * *

They’ve had their moments, Madge and Gale, but he wants to get to know her again. He wants to know about her journey, about her fight. He wants to know if she misses the piano, if she wishes she still had strawberries.

Their trips to the roof become part of the normal routine.

It’s dangerous. Every time Gale leads her from his room up the back stairwell to the roof, he knows that it’s dangerous. But he can’t stop himself. She’s a piece of the world that he’s left behind and he wants more than anything to have it back.

* * *

He knows that adding feelings to the mess of his life is not going to help anyone, and he tries his hardest to ignore the way they swell up in his chest, but he fails.

There’s something about Madge Undersee that Gale craves.

On the roof she speaks freely, though Gale watches his tongue. She rants about the Capitol, she raves about the change she wants, she stares out across the city and speaks of hope as though it’s something tangible that she has cradled against her chest. For years, Gale’s thought that his flame has been dead, but Madge sets him alight again.

Her eyes are the clearest blue and her words are sharp and Gale finds himself wondering if the warmth inside of his chest is because it’s _her_ or because of what she’s saying.

Honestly, he thinks it’s both.

They’re on the roof one night, Gale bone tired from a day of training, and Madge is quiet. Gale wants to give her something. He works up the nerve for minutes before he speaks--his voice gravelly.

“I’ll get you out of here one day,” he says. Madge tips her head, indicating that she’s heard him, but she doesn’t turn to face him. “You and the others.”

“Why?” she asks.

“You know why.”

Madge turns, looking to him, and her eyes are clear again. “I want to hear you say it.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

She holds his gaze for a long time before finally turning, looking out across the city again. He’s never _told_ her. He’s never told any of the girls. But they have to know. _They have to know_. Madge drums her fingers on the edge of the roof. She leans a little farther over and looks down. It’d be quite a fall.

“I don’t know how I feel about you,” she tells him.

Gale commands himself to swallow. He isn’t sure what she means.

“I could say the same,” Gale returns. He steps forward and tugs the back of her shirt to pull her away from the edge. “Don’t stand so close.” Madge leans into the pull and turns, stepping closer to him than Gale had been expecting. Up this close, her freckles are more prominent than the stars in the city sky. Her proximity to him makes his chest feel hot.

“Do you remember,” she says softly, “that night in the meadow?”

Gale can’t look away. “Which one?”

Her mouth quirks. “You know the one.”

The night in the meadow after Katniss and Peeta were whisked away from District 12 without even a goodbye. The night after Gale and Madge stood in the square and met eyes through the crowd. The night in the meadow where they sat so close, their thighs were touching, their fingers brushing from where they stretched out.

“Why?” Gale asks.

“I wanted to kiss you,” Madge says evenly, and it rocks Gale to his core. He remembers the way she looked at him, the way she licked her lips. “But I knew how you felt about her.”

About Katniss.

“When you’re a teenager,” Gale manages, “you think you want one thing. You don’t know any better.”

“And what do you want, Gale?”

He leans in closer to her and she didn’t move away. “I want to win this war,” he exhales.

Madge licks her lips here, now, and Gale’s eyes dart down to watch the motion.

There are more words that he wanted to say. He wants to tell her he knows about Katniss and Peeta, about their quiet wedding in the bowels of District 13, about their hidden child they won’t let Coin make propos of. He wants to tell her that thinking of Katniss leaves him feeling burned, but not in a way that makes him ache. He wants to tell Madge that he wants, more than anything, Katniss to be with someone who makes her happier than she knows what to do with--because after years of war and pain she deserves to find her peace.

Gale wants to tell her that thinking of Katniss, standing as close as Madge is now, doesn’t make his heart turn in his chest like the way it was now.

She smiles, and his insides are hotter than ash.


	8. Detonation

Even without contact from Haymitch, even without confirmation that the blueprints were from the Mockingjay army, Gale sets his plan into motion.

The Jabberjays are on the end of their rope, and Gale knows that. He’s known that for months, waiting for the best time to strike. It has to be soon. _You’ll just know_ , he had said.

Gale paces. He runs over every scenario in his head. Is this it? Is he getting ahead of himself because he _wants_ it to be the time? He can’t tell, and that makes him afraid. But still, he sets the plan into motion.

It feels right. It feels like it’s time.

Gale gets home late after planting small, detonation devices all throughout the building, and Madge is waiting for him. There’s something in her gaze that Gale challenges, tipping his head to the side to force her to speak, but she doesn’t, not right away.

“Roof?” she asks.

“Not tonight.”

She tips her head back in response. It’s as though she knows what he’s thinking, what he’s planned, what he’s set into motions, and disappears into the back room.

Gale calls out for Yvette and she brings him a drink, and then another, and another. Soon the world sways in front of him and Gale lowers himself to the edge of his bed, dropping his head into his hands. He wants to hear his mother’s voice. He wants to see Posy’s smile. He wants to go _home_ , and he hates the waiting game more than anything.

Part of him knows that waiting might not be enough. That he might not even make it out of here. Every plan has to account for that possibility. All of these years that Gale has spent with the enemy he’s known his death was likely. He’s even known that dying might be easiest. But he holds out hope, he holds out the dream of returning back to his family to clear his name. It makes all of this easier. It stomps down the fear in his chest and allows him to carry on.

He only looks up to the sound of footsteps. Madge is standing in front of him again, her smile gone.

“Tonight?” she asks, and she’s not asking about the roof.

“Tomorrow,” he tells her. “Late.” Madge lowers herself onto the spot beside him, her eyes cast in the direction of the back room where Yvette and Freya have hidden themselves away. Gale wonders if there’s still someone listening in. He wonders if he’s even really fully been trusted here amongst the enemy. Still, he murmurs, “It can’t be you.”

Madge reaches for his hand. She says nothing, but she squeezes his fingers.

“ _It can’t be you_ ,” Gale rasps again.

She tried to kill herself, he thinks. She showed up amongst a troupe of rebels, dirty and tired and broken. She fought him. She looked at him with hate. He’d convinced himself it _wasn’t_ her, that Madge _wasn’t_ his message, that she _wasn’t_ his way out of this.

But was she? Is she?

He closes his eyes and thinks of how, 24 hours from now, this building will be a heap of rubble. How the center of operations for the Jabberjay army will burn, whether or not the Mockingjay will be here to battle them or not. Gale thinks of all the things he’s done that’s gotten him here, that’s kept him alive, that made him a player in this war.

“I’m ready to go home,” he whispers.

“Me too,” Madge responds.

He feels her hand on his side and Gale remembers what it’s like to not hate himself. For so long, he’s been directing his hatred against the world and the Capitol at _himself_. It was easier than letting himself lose control. But with Madge here, it eases away. Her fingers are soft and cool against his skin, and when he opens his eyes to look at her, the look in her eyes is gentle. This is the same Madge Undersee from District 12, from all of those years ago. The same girl who burned quietly, quieter than himself. The same girl who encouraged soft rebellion through strawberries, who snuck newspapers to Katniss and Peeta and Haymitch as they prepared for the Quell. This is the same girl, bright and kind and intuitive.

 _It’s her_ , Gale thinks weakly, and is so overwhelmed with the relief of it that he wants to cry, _and she knows_. _She knows that I’m still me, too._

And if Madge can see that, if Madge can look at him and understand why it is he’s here in this uniform in this war, then maybe not all hope is lost. Maybe his mother will understand too, his siblings. Maybe even Katniss will forgive him one day. It’ll take some time, he knows that, but when this is over it can really be _over_.

Gale surprises himself when he murmurs, “I want to kiss you.”

Madge tugs him just a touch closer. “Isn’t that what I’m here for?” she asks. “To serve you?”

There’s a lilt in her voice that sounds like a joke, like she’s teasing him, but it’s been so long since Gale’s been _teased_ that he needs to make this very clear.

“No.” The smile on her face slips away in an instant. “You aren’t mine to use. I’m not going to kiss you if you don’t--”

She presses herself upwards then, and the feel of her mouth against his own is overwhelming. “It’s called a joke, Hawthorne,” she breathes against his lips. “I know you wouldn’t--”

Then they’re kissing, because that’s enough words for them both to understand what this is. Not an escape, not a show of force. Just a kiss. A way to ground them both, a way to remind them that they’re still human, that they’re still people from District 12 who ended up in a war much bigger than either of them.

She tugs forcefully on his shirt to pull him closer and Gale groans, pushing her downwards onto the mattress as they kiss. She’s looking up at him as though she’s more at peace now than she’s been in a long time which _must_ be impossible. But Gale leans in to kiss her again and soon her fingers are fumbling against his buttons, and his against her uniform.

They shed layer after layer until it’s just the two of them in bed together, nothing in between, no secrets left between them.

* * *

He doesn’t want to wake her up in the morning.

How nice would if be if he could do this without disturbing her? If he could let Madge sleep in a spot of sunlight and wake her when it was over? But he knows that he must, because if she doesn’t make it out of this he’ll never forgive himself.

She blinks her eyes open at him and Gale’s struck by how blue they are. Like a summer day, like a fresh start that Gale thinks he’s actually going to have a shot at.

“You’re beautiful,” Gale murmurs before he can stop it. It’s been so long since he’s been allowed to be affectionate that it’s tumbling out of him now. He feels foolish for saying it but Madge smiles in a way that’s so warm Gale can feel it in his fingertips. “Are you ready?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m ready,” she says. “It matters if you are.”

“I’m ready,” Gale tells her. Just a moment longer, they’ll wait. “The girls?” he asks. The servants? Those who have been forced to act as slaves? “Are they--”

“Don’t worry,” Madge says. “I’ve got it handled.”

He looks at her now, spread out across his bed. “What happens after?” Gale asks. Last night was what he needed, but he wants more. He cares for Madge. She’s seen him at his worst and still looked at him as though he’d crafted light with his own hands. She’s shown him forgiveness he’d never get the chance to see. “With us,” he clarifies.

“Let’s wait until after to see,” Madge says, but she presses herself up into a sitting position to pull him back for another kiss.

* * *

It’s terrifying to spend the rest of his day in the building that’s set to detonate as soon as it gets dark out. Madge disappears and, while Gale can’t be sure what she’s doing, he has to trust that she’s in control of the situation.

The hallways seem empty as Gale paces them, soldiers frustrated that their people aren’t around.

“There might’ve been a calling,” Gale says. It’s rare, but every now and then all of the attendants will be summoned for a new procedure learning. “They’re not great at telling us,” Gale reminds the men.

They’re still frustrated, but at least they stop mentioning it.

The day drags on. At the end of it, Gale returns to his unit and collects the things he holds dearest to him. They’re remnants from the time before, before he made this switch, before he donned the Jabberjay uniform. His girls are gone, no note, nothing left behind.

When he exits the building for the last time, he expects a fight. He expects that there will be a battle soon. He expects to have to shoot his gun.

But when he is far enough away, and the time hits what he and Madge had decided upon that morning, he presses the detonator. The noise of the bomb is so loud it’s nearly silent, and as the building crumbles and he stands alone, watching it burn, Gale finally finds peace.

He knows that chaos will follow. He knows a piece of him will always feel guilt. Guilt from the lives he's taken today, in the past, in the war, no matter how awful the people were. Guilt from what he's had to do to maintain his cover. Guilt from who he's had to be so they could get to this point. But with the chaos and the guilt will be freedom, freedom, freedom. 


	9. Peace

All of the soldiers that were in the building Gale tore down were killed, but there were soldiers elsewhere that gear up for a fight. Jabberjays don’t die that easily.

Gale is contacted almost immediately, and he wonders how he’s been found. He wonders if maybe there’s been a chip inside of him this entire time, that Haymitch and the Mockingjays have always been watching him. He’s taken in by two kids who have to be the same age Gale was when all of this started. He expects to see resentment in their eyes, or maybe victory because they’ve taken in _Gale Hawthorne_ and he can only imagine the name they’ve built for him in his absence, but there’s just respect.

“Captain Hawthorne,” one of them greets, and Gale’s surprised at the fondness in his voice. “It’s an honor, Sir.”

They shake his hands and debrief him on the situation, that there are Mockingjay troops waiting to strike, that Katniss will be at the forefront of this battle, that it has to be the _last_.

“I don’t know if it will be,” Gale says. Once the Capitol decided their own children dying wasn’t enough to end a war, it was frightening to think it would ever end. “But I’m in this fight.”

“You need a new uniform,” the other says with a grin.

Gale doesn’t know how to respond. He laughs.

* * *

He expects the feeling of a gun in his hand to feel like it has for all of these years. Heavy. Burning. But there’s a golden Mockingjay patch on his chest and Katniss greets him with the faintest of smiles and, without any words, he knows that she knows.

And if Katniss knows, they all know.

Peeta is a bit reluctant, but Katniss approaches Gale slowly and Peeta lingers back.

“Hopefully your aim didn’t get shitty while you were working for the assholes,” Katniss says. Gale tries to stop himself from smiling and he can’t. There are tears in his eyes. “I need my hunting partner back.”

“I never left,” Gale says.

Her smile brightens. “I know.”

There will be time later for them to talk about the grief. Gale knows he’ll never be able to go on without Katniss in his life to some degree, but he knows the pain that must linger as she looks at him. He’ll say his apologies for Prim, whether he was responsible or not. He’ll hold her like she’s family, hoping to push her broken pieces back into place.

But for now, they have to fight.

So they fight.

* * *

It doesn’t end as quickly as Gale wishes it would.

Madge lingers in the back of his mind but, in passing, he hears someone mention Lieutenant Undersee and her girls so it gives him enough to push on. He fights by Katniss’s side as though he’s never left. They’re still in-sync, and Gale’s convinced they never won’t be.

But a week into it, President Snow is finally revealed dead. Dead for years, from his poison, and those left in the Capitol are too weak to start a new fight. They wave their white flag. They call it quits.

There are still powerful men and women who have money, who deal in fear, but Gale is no longer afraid of them.

The war is over. Gale’s on the winning side.

* * *

When he finally sees her again, he’s convinced he’s dreaming.

Her golden hair looks a little too clean. Her soft blue eyes remind him a little too much of the sky. She smiles at him and Gale feels it in his fingertips, warm and unrelenting. He strides over to her and she strides over to him and Gale crushes her against him, sighing in relief.

“I knew you were okay,” she says, and he knew the same.

“Haymitch said you got them all out.”

“All one hundred and sixteen,” Madge says with a nod.

Gale pulls back and looks down at her. She’s so fucking beautiful and so fucking steadying that his eyes being to fill with tears. “It was you,” he says, and she nods. “This whole time.” But there are pieces that don’t make sense, pieces that Gale needs to understand. “You tried to kill yourself,” Gale rasps, thinking back to that night, thinking back to the blood and the fear that cemented in his heart.

“It was a test,” Madge tells him. Gale frowns and she reaches up, her hands cupping his cheeks. “No offense,” she murmurs, “but Abernathy didn’t want you back if you were willing to let his favorite goddaughter die.” Gale lets her tug him down so they can kiss. He has to kiss her. Just once before she pulls away. “And if I lived in a world where Gale Hawthorne had really switched sides…”

“Never,” he breathes.

“It’d been years since contact,” she whispers. “Some people weren’t sure if you were still fighting the good fight.”

“Including you,” Gale murmurs.

“Your family never lost faith,” she tells him.

Gale pulls away fast. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his lips part. “My family knew?” Madge nods, and Gale steps back to try and center himself. Being called _Captain Hawthorne_ made him think that the fighters had been debriefed before they went to war. He didn’t know--couldn’t dare assume--that he was holding a good name in the rebellion all of this time. “He said no one…”

“Your mother pushed,” Madge says. “She refused to believe it.”

Gale feels tears in his eyes. His voice is thick. “Yeah, sounds like her.” He sniffs, stepping back again to wipe his eyes. “But they know now? For real?”

“I’d imagine so.” Madge steps forward, wrapping her arms around her waist. “You haven’t seen them yet?” she asks. “Let’s go now.”

* * *

There are moments that words don’t reach.

Posy, pressing herself on her tiptoes to throw her arms around Gale. Vick, a few steps back, holding hands with a boy as they laugh quietly to themselves. Rory, his title on his chest with a golden Mockingjay patch. Hazelle, beaming, beaming, beaming.

* * *

Some nights Gale wakes up thinking he’s still in the Jabberjay headquarters.

This all had to have been a dream. It’s unfair for him to escape the war unscathed, for it to end like this with what feels like little work. He’ll perch on the edge of his mattress with his head in his hands and breathe and breathe and breathe until Madge wakes up, climbing across to him, dropping her forehead against his back.

She’ll creep her arm around until he can grab her hand and then they sit together in the quiet until Gale remembers who and where he is.

Tonight when he wakes up, her golden hair is spilling across the pillow. Gale presses a kiss to her chin and she stirs, just enough to offer him a sleepy smile, before curling back into him. Her breathing returns to shallow, asleep, and he knows that he loves her.

Tomorrow, in this new nation that he’s sacrificed so much for, in this new nation where Madge looks at him like the hero he’ll never feel like, Gale will tell her.

They’ll be okay.


End file.
